Half God Half Devil
by Opinionated Asmodeus
Summary: Just one last time, even if I am to die, I must see him.
1. Chapter 1

Every step is agony. Every breath taken is one closer to his last. Every thought circles back to one point, back to the reason that keeps him going even in this fading state.

_Dante_.

Just one last time, even if he is to die, he must see him. Just one last time, even if it kills him, he must hold him. Just one last time, before he fades away entirely, he must fight him. He must defeat him, once and for all, and then he will be satisfied. Then he can finally let go.

He stops to lean up against the faded brick façade of the closest building to him, letting his eyes close momentarily, and feels for Yamato. Her energy is like a brilliant star, pulsating with a wordless song that is so close and so very loud as if she is right behind the wall he is resting against. He double-checks, just to be certain it isn't a trick of the mind, then opens his eyes and looks up. A flickering neon sign that reads _Devil May Cry_ is poised above the entryway of the building he has fortuitously chosen to stop at, and he almost gives a snort at the ludicrous name. Instead, a coughing fit wracks his body, nearly making him double over as pain lances through him.

It takes several minutes for the coughing to subside, and even longer for the pain to recede to a dulled throb that seeps through every bone, muscle, ligament, and tendon in his body. His breath comes out in a rattling wheeze as he forces himself to straighten up, gripping at the space between the bricks for support, then slowly makes his way towards the entryway. He pauses at the foot of the steps, three short ones that may as well be Mount Everest, and stares up at the equally faded double doors. If he can just make it up these steps, make it to Yamato, then he can…

He grits his teeth and climbs the stairs with a tight grip on the wrought iron handrail, not even daring to stop when he reaches the doors. They are foolishly left unlocked at such a dark hour and swing open at the slightest touch, revealing a near-pitch black space that is decidedly foreboding. He stumbles through the doorway and into the yawning abyss right as his body gives out from the exertion. Sharp pain flares through his knees first and then his head when he fails to catch himself.

Everything goes hazy, his vision threatening to fade and a ringing in his ears, and then a familiar and warm scent washes over him. A scent that stirs his demonic blood and has him struggling to cling to consciousness as footsteps thud down a set of stairs and over to where he's sprawled out. "Dante," he wheezes out and blindly reaches out for the source of that scent, for his brother. A sharp inhale sounds over him as his fingers brush against a worn fabric and then it vanishes, his fingers closing around air. Just as quickly, before he can begin to question his own sanity, a warm hand clasps around his.

"Vergil?" Disbelief. Fear. Anguish. Happiness. Hope. All of those emotions layer over one another in his brother's scent as his other hand comes to grip his shoulder and he pulls him up onto his knees. He can't help the pained gasp that he gives at the unexpected movement, causing worry to filter into Dante's scent. "Oh, shit, you're hurt!" He lets go of his hand, but not his shoulder, and pulls off the threadbare cloak he is wearing to inspect him for wounds. Dante pauses at the sight of him, breath catching in his throat, as the unmistakable scent of tears perfumes the air. "Vergil."

Vergil had only glimpsed reflections of himself maybe once or twice, but he knows how unpalatable his own appearance is. Veins blackened, skin cracked and flaking away, his eyes an unearthly glowing crimson, all of him being held together by his demonic energy. He can just barely make out Dante's face in the darkness, roughened by the passage of time and leaving him to wonder just how long it has truly been. He knows that he cannot be certain of most things, but he had been…maybe his sanity _has_ left him after all. This could just be a fevered dream or hallucination of some sort, playing out in his final moments.

Dreams and hallucinations are not warm and pulsing with life, however, and Dante is so very warm as he wraps his arms around Vergil and draws him to him. He slumps into his hold, face pressing into the crook of his neck where he can sense that pulsing flow of life running through him. _Take it_, his demon whispers, and Vergil gives it no other thought as he latches his mouth onto the tender skin of Dante's throat. His brother goes stiff with a soft gasp and before he can react any further Vergil bites down. Dante's blood fills his mouth and he gulps it down, barely registering the taste that would have made it obvious that there is something very off and very wrong with his twin's life essence. It is _tainted_ with something foul, something that his body rejects immediately and violently. He pushes away from Dante and barely manages to turn away as the blood comes back up, along with what little bile there is in his stomach.

Vergil can just make out the soft curse that Dante gives as he finally reacts, an arm circling around Vergil to keep him upright. What energy he did have left is spent, his vision swiftly blackening as he succumbs to unconsciousness.

Nothingness greets Vergil, all of his senses muted, and he has to wonder if this is what death is like. A vast emptiness, no real sense of self.

This state of almost not-being is shattered as energy pulses through him and he is dragged back into the grips of wakefulness with the taste of blood on his tongue. A cut and bleeding wrist is pressed to his mouth while a hand is at his throat massaging it to force a reactionary swallow. The blood itself is human, potent, and laced with a power that feels as if it is revitalizing him.

"He's awake, Dante," a vaguely familiar voice sounds from Vergil's side and the wrist is pulled away. His vision doesn't even start to focus enough when the presence, human and female, moves away from him. "You better hope shit doesn't go south again because I'm not donating any more of my blood to him. Not after the shit he put you through. And don't you even think of thanking me for this!"

"Yeah, yeah. I owe ya for this, Lady." Dante sounds particularly exhausted and it shows on his face when it pops into Vergil's clarifying field of view. He's been crying. Blood still stains his neck, dried, and smelling of whatever foulness taints it.

"And you'll owe me for cutting your utilities back on and getting you caught up on your rent," Lady if that is her name, mutters as she leaves the room.

"Where…" Vergil's voice trails off and he licks at his lips, cleaning away the traces of blood still clinging to them, as he tears his gaze away from Dante's face and tries to sit up to take in his new surroundings. Dante just as quickly pushes him back down onto the bed he's been put in, with just a light press of his hand to the center of Vergil's chest.

"You need to rest." There is worry in Dante's voice, his tone soft. "You…it was pretty bad. You're still in pretty bad shape." He looks away from Vergil, lower lip pulled between his teeth and the scent of tears on the air again. "You're dying."

Though for now that imminent death has been held off, if only for a while longer. "I am aware." Dante's gaze flashes back to his, despair and desperation flickering through those pale depths. "Temporarily undone by the woman's blood." As it should have been undone by Dante's blood, and the realization clicks for him, his brother pressing a hand to the bloodied side of his neck.

"Do you need more? I can get more!" Dante doesn't wait for a response, just takes off and leaves behind the scent of his tears and the essence of fire.

Vergil has been left to his own devices it seems because Dante's presence and the woman's are both completely gone when he lets his senses spread out. Somewhere below Yamato sings her wordless song and he actually finds himself pausing at the thought of going to retrieve her. He had been ready to take her back earlier, to use her on himself, but then his brother's face springs up in his mind, with that agonized expression etched into it and there is an indescribably painful twisting in his chest.

So he waits for Dante to return.


	2. Chapter 2

Vergil needs blood, so Dante robs a blood bank. He is careful about it, or as careful as he can be while in his Devil Trigger, not wanting to leave any clues about his identity. Sure, he gets shit for being reckless and maybe not making the smartest of choices at times, but he is far from being the lovable idiot he portrays himself as. Lady is probably the only person who really knows him, knows that it's all an act, so she will at least understand why he's doing this for Vergil.

She might not agree, and she might not like it, but she had come through for me in the end when he had called her. She didn't have to give Vergil any of her blood. She could have just let him die but she didn't and Dante can't possibly even begin to think of a way to thank her. He owes her so much already, none of it to do with money. Without her, he would have never survived after that night at Temen-ni-gru…

Dante almost gets caught up in a surge of memories and emotions from back then, gritting his teeth as he pushes them down, while he tightens the hold he has on a cooler full of bagged blood. Yeah, he had been in a pretty fucked situation, all of which was Vergil's fault, but Vergil needs him now and Dante can't, no, he won't abandon Vergil. _I need him so damn much that it hurts._ So he will do his damnedest to nurse Vergil back to health and to convince him to stay, and if it comes to it he will convince Vergil to take him with him if he has to leave.

And he hasn't left yet despite clearly having the opportunity to do so, Dante realizes when he makes it back to Devil May Cry. There's an overwhelming sense of relief that comes with the horror of realizing that he had left Vergil by himself in such a fragile state. Yeah, he had been completely aware of Lady taking off, her tolerance for Vergil exceedingly low, but he shouldn't have-

"Dante." Vergil's voice is surprisingly strong for him being on his deathbed, the commanding tone cleaving through Dante's building panic and guilt. He appears at the top of the stairs, still looking like death warmed over on a very bad day, a hand gripping at the banister for support.

"You should be resting." Dante takes the cooler over to his desk and sets it down, popping the lid open with a flick of his wrist. It doesn't really matter which type of blood he grabs, all of it will have the same effect for Vergil, so he plucks a bag off of the top. "I got some blood for you. It might not do much, but it'll help." Little by little, until he can get his hands on something better.

"You shouldn't have gone through the trouble." Dante guesses he should be thankful that Vergil's upstairs, still holding onto the banister, and still very much in a state that won't let him go up there and slug him. He wants to. Oh, how he wants to because having Vergil here with him is worth it. So for Vergil to say that…

"I'll be right up, so why don't you start dragging your sorry ass back to the bed?" A little bit of Dante's anger seeps into his tone. A little bit of hurt is in there too. If Vergil notices it, because he seems to notice everything, he doesn't say anything. He does actually make his way back into the bedroom, much to Dante's shock, leaving him staring at the spot he had occupied for a moment.

Dante gives a shake of his head to clear it then quickly pads into the kitchen, which is cluttered with empty pizza boxes and empty bottles of booze. He'll have to clean it, along with the rest of Devil May Cry, and actually start putting it to use once he knows that Vergil will be able to eat something. Right now, he goes over to the closest cupboard and pulls out one of the dozen containers of crystallized demon blood he has. He also snags a surprisingly clean, if not dusty, glass, and gives it a quick rinse inside and out before he heads upstairs.

Vergil is perched on the edge of Dante's bed, looking around at the mess that is his room, his lips twisted into a scowl of disdain. Dante holds back a grimace when Vergil's gaze shifts towards him and musters up a passable smile. "Some things never change," Vergil says it so softly, maybe not meaning for Dante to hear it, but he's not gonna pretend that he didn't hear it.

"A lot has changed, _brother. _You didn't stick around so you wouldn't _know_." Vergil doesn't really react to Dante's words, nor the anger dripping from them. He just stares at Dante in unbearable silence for a long moment. Vergil's scowl disappears, expression blanking, and then he finally looks away from Dante.

"My apologies, Dante. I should not assume anything." Dante grits his teeth, biting back a growl, then approaches him. Vergil's almost perfectly still, chest barely moving with each breath, his head tipped down and his gaze on the floor. His attention only returns to Dante when he pops open the container of demon blood, Vergil's nose twitching slightly as he sniffs at the air. His brows knit together with confusion as Dante plucks a sizable chunk from the container and drops it into the empty glass.

"No, you shouldn't," Dante mutters, setting the container down on the bed beside Vergil. Vergil eyes it with curiosity before deciding to watch Dante as he opens the bag of human blood and carefully pours it into the glass. He only fills it up to a certain point, so that there is an equal amount of each, then holds it out for Vergil to take. "Drink."

Vergil's fingers brush against Dante's as he takes the glass, and his skin icy to the touch. Dante had noticed the chill that seems to emanate from him earlier but hadn't really given it much thought then. He shouldn't be so _cold_. There should be some form of warmth to him, if only a little, and the fact that there isn't makes Dante's demon stir with a whine in the back of his mind.

Dante watches as Vergil drains the glass, a look of surprise flitting across his face when he lowers it. "You good for now or do you need more?" Vergil blinks slowly at his question, then silently holds the glass out for Dante to take back. He drops another chunk of crystallized demon blood into it, this one slightly smaller than before then fills it with an equal amount of human blood. "Once you're done we'll see about getting you a hot bath or somethin' and getting you into some clean clothes."

Vergil takes his time with this glass, eyes sliding shut as he seems to savor the mixture of blood. There really isn't any sort of perceivable change to his condition but a trace of pink seems to dust his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. It's something. Better than nothing. "A bath sounds _refreshing_," he finally says once he finishes the blood off and lowers the glass.

"Gimme a moment to put the blood up," Dante says then casually drinks the rest of the blood in the bag, not wanting to let it go to waste. A look of surprise flits across Vergil's face and he stares at Dante in shocked silence as Dante collects the glass and the container of demon blood. "Can't let it go ta waste."


	3. Chapter 3

Never would Vergil have ever thought he would see his twin, who had cleaved so tightly to his humanity, partake in something that is distinctly demonic. It is _shocking_, almost unbelievable, and Vergil can't help but stare after Dante as he leaves the bedroom to put the blood away. Vergil also can't help but picture the way Dante's expression had twisted with anger as he had made his irrefutable accusation. The underlying hurt marked with something more, something buried deep within. Something that Vergil had indelibly caused by his _leaving_.

Vergil can't even begin to fathom what else there might be to have caused those feelings in his brother and Vergil doesn't even have long to dwell on it. Dante reappears, a wan smile on his lips that fails to cover up what has already been exposed to Vergil. Dante approaches him, barely making a sound as he walks, and pulls Vergil onto his feet. Vergil is steadier than before, the blood cocktail having helped at least a little, but Dante slings an arm around Vergil to take on the brunt of his weight.

"Seems like the blood did something for ya," his twin notes as he guides Vergil across the bedroom to another door that, when opened, reveals a surprisingly tidy and clean bathroom. Dante's scent hangs thicker here than it does in his bedroom, a sweet, cinnamon-y musk that stirs Vergil's instincts and his blood even in his weakened state. "Just lemme know when ya want more. Got enough to hold ya over for a bit."

"How, exactly, did you manage to acquire the human blood?" A cooler filled to the brim with it, no less. Dante doesn't even meet his eyes at the question, head tilted down so that his hair hangs in his eyes while he steers Vergil across the chilly tile floor to the tub. He seems intent on avoiding giving an answer, the lines of his body going rigid. "Dante."

"Don't worry 'bout how I got it. Just worry 'bout gettin' better." He lets go of Vergil long enough to plug up the tub and turn on the hot water before he busies himself with removing Vergil's clothes. His twin is intent on doing all of it by himself, batting Vergil's hands away the instant he tries to aid Dante, all while keeping his gaze downcast.

It is probably for the best that Vergil lets him assume control over everything involving his care. Vergil does not want to, letting Dante have complete control over him rankles him in a way that makes him want to lash out, but Dante is not Mundus. He had freed Vergil from that demon's control, from the daily torment that had been visited upon him, and Dante only wants to help. So Vergil swallows down the urge to claw at Dante, to bite him and make him _submit_ to him, and Vergil lets him help.

"We'll probably have to burn these," Dante murmurs as he deftly undoes the fastenings of Vergil's vest and slides it off of his shoulders. It lands half pooled around Vergil's feet and is quickly joined by his pants. His gloves are very nearly an afterthought, though they don't join the pile on the floor. How curious, for Dante to set aside his gloves as if there might be some purpose in keeping them. "You can wear somethin' of mine til we can get you new clothes."

Wearing something that Dante has worn, something steeped in his scent, is incredibly appealing, enough so that Vergil almost wants to tell him to not bother with getting him something new. Vergil is in no position to make demands, however, so he will let Dante does as he sees fit. This is also part of letting Dante care for him, another aspect of control that Vergil has already decided to yield to him. There is one thing, however… "What became of my coat?" It is the one thing Vergil had already been stripped of when he had awoken and he hadn't seen it in Dante's bedroom.

"Gonna try an' see if I can salvage it." Vergil finds it touching that the one thing Dante would try to save is his coat, when it honestly should join what is to be burned. Vergil doesn't expect him to give a reason why and trying to pry anything out of him is proving difficult. So Vergil lets the point lapse as Dante checks the water level in the tub before shutting the water off. "Let's get you in that tub now."

The water is hot, scalding if the curls of steam rising from its surface is anything to go by, but Vergil sinks down into it with Dante's aid. He hardly waits for Vergil to adjust to the temperature, immediately reaching for the washcloth and soap. Vergil can't suppress the flinch nor the soft hiss he gives as Dante brings the hot, soaked rag across his chest.

"Sorry." Dante says it quietly as he withdraws the washcloth momentarily, letting it cool before he starts washing Vergil. He is gentle, keeping the touch of the cloth light while his mouth twists into a faint frown. "I shouldn't have made the water so hot."

"It's fine as it is." Weakened as Vergil is, the temperature is just at the edge of tolerable and unbearable. He's already adjusted to it now, however, the heat sinking into his body and making him realize how cold he had been prior. "It feels nice."

"I'm glad." Dante's voice is still subdued, still quiet, but he manages a faint smile. One that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Vergil can't stand the sight of these empty smiles on his brother's face.

"What did I do that hurt you so much?" There has to be more to it than just the fact that Vergil had left and judging from how quickly Dante's expression goes carefully blank he's almost certain of it.

"You…" Even with his expression woefully blank Vergil can acutely feel the pain rolling off of him. It runs deep, deeper than he can fathom, and Vergil hates that he is the cause of that pain. "Don't worry about it anymore. It's all in the past."

Even though Vergil had expected such an answer from Dante, he is still displeased by it. Pressing further won't yield anything except more of this closed-off-ness from Dante. Besides, he had already answered Vergil's question earlier. He hadn't stuck around. He can only guess that something terrible had happened after he had left Dante in the way that he had at Temen-ni-gru, not when Dante had struck him down at Mallet. It is the only thing that makes the most sense.

"Lemme get your hair and then you're all done." Vergil lets Dante ease him back to wet his hair, his eyes closing with a soft, involuntary purr as Dante's fingers card through it. He spends several minutes massaging the shampoo into Vergil's hair and scalp, the quiet in the bathroom broken by Vergil's purrs and the occasional sloshing of the water.

Vergil hasn't felt so at peace since they were both eight years old, Dante's presence and touch granting him a sense of safety that has eluded him for the past thirty-five years. He only wishes that he could perhaps do the same for Dante, to heal whatever pain he has caused and give Dante that same sense of peace and safety. To be able to do so Vergil needs actual answers, ones that Dante may never provide him with. If he won't then the woman might.

"C'mon, Verge, time to rinse," Dante finally says as he withdraws his fingers from Vergil's hair. Dante eases him back down and carefully rinses the shampoo lather out, Dante's expression slowly becoming pensive. After he's done and he's helped Vergil sit back up he pauses, his lower lip pulled between his teeth. He looks caught on the edge of wanting to say something, his gaze skittering away from Vergil as he seems to try to work up enough courage to give voice to whatever it might be. "I know you want answers…and that you won't stop until you get those answers. This probably sounds silly cuz it's been twenty-four years, but I need time. Not a whole lot, just a few weeks to get myself sorted out."

Going behind his back is probably the worst thing Vergil can do when Dante seems to be willing to talk, to give him the answers he wants. Vergil puts the notion out of his head and clasps a hand around one of his. Dante doesn't expect it, giving a slight start at the touch, but he doesn't pull away either. "I will wait for however long it takes, Dante."

His brother gives a bitter and broken laugh, his hand tightening around Vergil's. "'fraid I won't get as long as I'd like but you have a right to know, so I'll try not to take too long." He pulls his hand free then reaches into the tub and unseals the drain. "Now let's get you dried off and into something warm."


	4. Chapter 4

Twenty-four years is a long time to hold on to a memory as painful as that night on top of Temen-ni-gru. Twenty-four years of feeling used and abandoned by my brother who had seen fit to fuck me and leave me on top of that dark tower. Twenty-four years of wallowing in the guilt of not following after him, as stupid as that would have been at the time. I would have been little more than a burden to him had I followed, or maybe the fact that I had been pregnant with his child would have been enough to dissuade him once it had become apparent. Maybe it wouldn't have dissuaded him at all with the threat that Mundus had posed.

How would he react to the knowledge that he had knocked me up? That he has a son for whom I had nearly died several times while carrying him? That I had almost died giving birth to? A son whom I had to give up so that _he_ would be safe? A son who had grown up into a fine young man and who I can barely look at because it hurts knowing that I hadn't been able to raise him.

I know that I shouldn't wait to tell him, that waiting to tell him will only make it harder to speak about it, but I can't bring myself to do it right now. Not so soon after nearly losing him. I selfishly want as much time as I can get with him before the truth comes out. Before it all will undoubtedly go to hell.

_It will be worth it_, I tell myself as I help him into a pair of soft black sweatpants. They're a little loose on my brother who is without a doubt malnourished. Hopefully once he is more stable I can get some actual food into him but for now he requires a strict diet of blood. _He'll catch cold more easily,_ I muse as I dig through my wardrobe to find a matching black sweat shirt, leaving him sitting over on the bed.

It takes several minutes of digging but I come away with a pair of fuzzy dark grey socks and the black sweat shirt. As I help Vergil with putting it all on I swear that he's purring again, the noise just barely audible. He looks happy underneath the weariness that seems ever present and…he is sniffing at the collar of the sweat shirt, his purr becoming just a bit louder.

"Ya want anything else, Verge?" I decide against commenting on him sniffing at his borrowed clothes, my clothes, and purring like he's a damn cat. He had purred in the bath too while I had been running my fingers through his hair, and I find all of it…inherently pleasing. He had relaxed during the bath and he is still relaxed even now.

He stiffens slightly at my question, his relaxed demeanor immediately vanishing, and then he regards me with a subdued expression before he gives a slight shake of his head. "I am fine." He says it quietly as he looks away from me, his scent twisting with guilt and sadness. "Thank you for your kindness and generosity," he adds before he lays down on the bed with his back to me.

I bite at my tongue as he curls up, hearing the unspoken _'I do not deserve it'_ loud and clear, and quickly pad out of the bedroom as tears threateningly prickle at my eyes. They start to fall before I can even reach the landing, bringing with them a surge of guilt. As much as I had suffered in that short time after Temen-ni-gru he had suffered for far longer under Mundus, nine years of enslavement with who knows what tortures and vile acts that had been brought down upon him, and then fifteen years after of having to survive in such a state. Yet I had thoughtlessly let myself lash out at him and get angry at him, and all he does is accept it in stride where he usually would have lashed out in turn.

Maybe I hadn't really changed at all. Not with how I had handled him since getting back with the blood.

"Goddamnit!" I clutch at the banister, letting my tears go unchecked, and contemplate turning myself around to go back into the bedroom, to go apologize for my poor reactions and behavior. _'But I deserve it'_ is what he would probably say. "You don't, you fucking idiot," I whisper harshly to the imagined response, my grip on the banister tightening to the point that the wood creaks.

My brother deserves every bit of kindness I can give him and, most of all, he deserves to be given a chance. He hasn't complained once, though I am certain he did want to complain about the state of my bedroom, which is shocking with how much I have manhandled him. I want to reason that it's because he's in such a weakened state but I _know_ that it must be frustrating for him to some degree. He has always held himself as someone who was always in control, whether it be of himself or the situation at hand, so my usurping that control is no better than what Mundus had done to him.

I wipe at my face, mostly in vain, then head back into my bedroom, taking care to keep my steps as silent as possible, and peer in at him from the doorway. He's still curled up, completely unmoving and his breathing is…indiscernible. My heart aches at the sight of him in such a defensive position—_fetal_ _position_, my mind supplies—and I'm crossing the distance from the doorframe to my bed before I fully realize it. I tentatively sit down on the edge of the bed, my weight making the mattress dip slightly, and reach out to lightly touch his back.

Vergil stiffens slightly at the touch then shifts enough to raise his head up and twist around to look at me. "Did you… Dante?" Concern colors his voice as he moves to sit up, worry etches into his expression, and there is only a slight hesitation before he wraps his arms around me. "What's wrong, Dante?" He asks softly as he pulls me close.

I immediately tuck my head under his chin and press my nose into his throat, his skin cool to the touch but not as icy as before. "I'm sorry," I whisper fervently, my eyes squeezing shut as more tears slip free.

"Dante…" He tightens his arms around me and rubs his cheek against the top of my head in an effort to comfort me. "You have nothing to apologize for." There is a beat of silence that follows, one that is sullied only by the soft wheezing of each breath that he takes and the faint beating of his heart. It doesn't last for long, my brother loosening his hold to draw back slightly. "Look at me, Dante."

I want to stubbornly shake my head and insist that I do have something to apologize for. Quite a lot to apologize for, in fact. Still, I can't bring myself to ignore his request and lift my head as I open my eyes to tearily look at him.

He shifts his hold on me to bring a hand up and wipe my tears away with several swipes of his thumb, his lips pulled into a slight frown. "I should be the one to apologize, little brother," he says in a soft murmur, his fingers tracing along my jaw before he curls them under my chin. "For the pain that you have suffered in my absence, for being foolish enough to leave you. If I could do it all over again-"

"-you would leave. Maybe not right away…but you still would have gone to try and take Mundus out." Confusion twists his scent at my interruption and he frowns at me, clearly trying to puzzle out why he would still leave. God, I can't keep it from him. I can't be selfish. "I was pregnant with our son."


	5. Chapter 5

_Dante was…_ My chest goes painfully tight as I stare at my brother—my frightened and nervous little brother, his eyes wide and still glistening with tears. I slowly shift my fingers from under his chin to trace along his jaw, feeling the delicate tremble that runs through him. "Please…tell me what happened."

He shifts slightly, his gaze lowering from mine for a moment as he contemplates my request. He trembles again, this one far stronger than the prior, before he seems to steel himself and return his gaze to mine. "At first I didn't know what was going on but I knew that something was up. I was stuck in my demon form and I craved blood constantly…" Several more tears fall and he inhales shakily, his gaze dimming as he speaks, his voice low. "I started with demon blood but it wasn't enough… One week and three days after you had fallen into the Underworld I almost died."

My heart seems to go still for several beats. It feels like all of the air has been knocked out of me. Panic claws through me—consumes me—even though Dante is right in front of me, alive and as well as he can be. I draw him back to me, circling my arms around him as tight as I can manage, and bury my nose in his hair to draw in his scent.

"Hey now…" Dante doesn't resist. He doesn't try to pull away. Instead he nuzzles at my jaw and neck with a soft coo that is meant to reassure me. It does little to soothe the edges of my panic, to pierce through it. "I'm okay, Vergil. I'm right here and I'm okay."

Okay_._ _Okay_. He is clearly not okay and it is my fault. Everything he has suffered is _my fault_. I had never wanted to truly hurt him—only for him to become strong enough to be able to take care of himself had I failed. Not only had I failed but I had left my baby brother in a state that had nearly been his undoing.

_He…_

I don't need to hear any more to piece it all together. He had needed my blood, my energy, to sustain himself and our child. Our son. There was no true substitute for my blood, only a mixture that paled in comparison. How long had it taken him to even figure it out? How many times had he nearly died? One time was already a time too many but I _know _that it was more.

"You should hate me." The words almost come out of their own volition, my panic twisting into something else. Loathing. For my actions. Towards myself. I have no right to touch him. I do not deserve the kindness-

"Stop it!" Pain blossoms through my left cheek, shocking me out of the downward spiral my thoughts and feelings had taken. Dante has pulled back from me, a tearful and angry scowl marring his face as he stares at me, the hand he had struck me with still held aloft. It drops back down to his lap after a few seconds where he balls it into a fist, his knuckles going white. "You couldn't have known that I was in heat, that I would get pregnant, so just stop it! Yeah, it was fucking awful to go through that and, yeah, I was mad at you for the longest time because it felt like you had used me and abandoned me but I **can't** hate you for any of it. I **need** you, goddamnit! I can't keep doing this without you, Verge, I just can't…"

I don't want to contemplate what Dante means by that last part—I don't want to think that my little brother had given up on living but that is plainly the case. Dante had given up on living and it's-

"Stop that!" Dante commands sharply, as if he can read my thoughts. For a second it seems as if he might hit me again but instead he closes the gap between us to slot his head under my chin. "Stop being an idiot and hold me," he whispers into my neck as his body quakes.

I slowly wrap my arms around Dante once more and close my eyes as I let my chin rest on the top of his head. It takes several minutes for Dante's trembling to cease, during which I absently rub small circles on his lower back while I try to contain my thoughts for his sake. The task isn't an easy one, not when I feel like he would be better off without me but it isn't about how _I_ feel. This is about Dante and how _he_ feels, and since he has made his feelings clear on the matter I will do everything within my power to abide by his feelings.


	6. Chapter 6

I swear that Vergil is sometimes so smart he crosses back over to being dumb. His tendency to overthink things can be blamed for that, mostly, but then there's the issue of communication or the lack thereof. **That** is on both of us if I'm going to be completely honest—we were both just so inherently bad at talking that we avoided it—but not anymore. I just can't anymore.

"Forgive me for being so foolish, little brother," Vergil murmurs after a few minutes, a hand resting at the small of my back. He shifts slightly, drawing back just enough to press his lips against my hair line then he rubs his jaw against my temple. "I had thought that you would be better off without me but that is clearly not the case."

"I should kick your ass for being such an idiot," I mutter into Vergil's neck without any heat to my voice.

"And risk sending me to my grave, little brother?" Vergil quips in a near playful tone.

It shouldn't be funny, not with how close he actually is to dying, but it manages to draw a small chuckle from me. "You're horrible."

"Indeed I am." Vergil presses another kiss to my hairline then draws back to look down at me, his expression marked by exhaustion. "I've been a horrible older brother and an absolutely terrible mate and yet you still want me around."

"Idiot. I said that I-"

"Need me, yes, my apologies." Vergil brings a hand up and gently brushes his fingertips against my jaw. "Even though we never properly bonded as mates…" He traces his fingers down along my neck then follows the contour of my clavicle over my shirt, pausing just as he reaches my sternum. "Your heart is already set."

"I'm pretty sure my heart was already set on you even before then," I confess softly, warmth suffusing my cheeks. "Dunno if it's because of what we are, I just always _knew_ that you are the one I want to be with."

Vergil goes quiet for a long moment, his fingers loosely curling into the fabric of my shirt before he brings his hand back up to cradle my jaw. He slowly caresses my cheek with his thumb, a question dancing in his eyes as he holds my gaze with his own. The silence stretches on between us longer than I would like as he settles on whether he wants to ask whatever it is he intends to ask me or not, to the point that I'm about prod him for his question when he finally asks, "May I kiss you?"

At first I'm in disbelief that Vergil even feels the need to ask for permission to kiss me but then it makes sense given that he probably thinks he doesn't even deserve to. As much as I want to chide him for that line of thought it won't change what he believes and it's not worth arguing over right now. It's better if I just answer him instead. "Yes."

Vergil hesitates slightly, sweeping his thumb across my cheek again, before he leans in and gently presses his lips to mine. The kiss…it's simple. It's sweet. It's perfect.

I wind my arms around his neck and return the kiss, careful to keep the contact chaste. It's all I need at the moment, this simplicity, and contentment fills me for the first time in decades.


	7. Chapter 7

I want more. More than this simple kiss I've initiated. More than simply holding Dante in my arms. I want so much more and yet I cannot bring myself to ask for more. I cannot bring myself to take what I want either. Not after how much I've hurt Dante. I will only allow myself what he will no doubt offer me beyond this kiss and nothing more. I will not hurt him again.

"We should get some rest," Dante murmurs as he pulls back slightly, effectively breaking the kiss. He keeps his arms around my neck, moving no further than that scant distance, and smiles at me. It's a faint curl of his lips accompanied by a warmth in his eyes. "But first I want another kiss." Dante closes the slight gap between us and initiates a kiss of his own, this one firm and more insistent than the one before it.

Try as I might to keep still, to let Dante kiss me as his leisure, I can't help but return the kiss, can't help but hold him closer. I can't help but give in to that urge for more, my mouth parting to allow for my tongue to dart across the seam of his lips and Dante responds with a soft noise of satisfaction as he opens his mouth to me. Spurred on by that delicate noise I delve my tongue into his mouth and tangle it with his, my hand at the small of his back tightly gripping at the fabric of his shirt.

Dante does nothing to take control of the kiss. In fact he seems content to let me devour him, making soft little noises in the back of his throat while I plunder his mouth that only serves to further encourage me. He yields to me so beautifully, so perfectly, that it's not hard to figure out that he's doing this on purpose. Dante is expertly manipulating me into giving him what he wants.

I break off the kiss, not because of the manipulation but because I need air, and let my forehead rest against his. "I shall never leave you again, Dante," I promise him with every bit of seriousness I can muster.

"Vergil." His voice is choked through with emotion while tears wet his lashes and then he gives me an absolutely stunning smile. Happiness lights up his eyes and his face, and in this instant I know that I will do anything and everything to keep him smiling like this.

"Beautiful," I murmur almost absentmindedly and sweep my thumb over his cheek to gather up one of the tears that wets it.

Dante's smile fades and his expression clouds over as he draws back and looks away from me. "I'm not," he insists quietly.

This sudden fragility has me faltering, if only for a second, and my mind desperately searching for a proper response. There are plenty of _wrong_ ones but… "You're beautiful to **me**, Dante." It is the truth as far as I am concerned and it should be the only thing that matters. Things are never so simple, however, and Dante proves that with a forceful shake of his head.

"Yer just sayin' that," he states tearfully and vehemently.

"No, Dante, I mean it." With barely any pressure at all I guide him to turn his face back towards mine, my fingers coming to rest just under his chin. "You could look as I do and I wouldn't think any differently because it is your heart and your soul that I speak of, Dante. They shine through, especially when you smile so radiantly."

Dante looks as though he wants to keep arguing but after a few seconds he sighs and closes his eyes, causing a few more tears to spill onto his cheeks. "We should sleep." The words come out just barely above a whisper, his voice quavering a little, and he opens his eyes again.

I'm not going to push the issue any further for now but I will make certain that this isn't the last time he will hear me say it. I will make certain that there is _never_ a last time and to ensure that I need to recover. I need to get better. For Dante. "Lay with me?"

Dante gives a slight nod and allows me to maneuver the both of us so that we're laying down. He quickly tucks his head beneath my chin, partly to hide his face from me and also because it is instinct that drives him to do it, and nuzzles his face into my neck. Definitely instinct. "G'night, Verge."

I hold him close and let my eyes shut as I focus on his breathing and his heartbeat. They start to slow after a few minutes, indicating that he is drifting off to sleep, and I continue to monitor them until I am absolutely certain he is fully asleep before letting myself succumb to my own exhaustion.


End file.
